"It's your choice"
She said to me,

after a history test,
passing a little notebook back and forth,
that was written in a secret language
we had made up years before.

I could feel how hot my cheeks were,
And some boy was staring, confused.
We looked like we were going to burst
into flames.

Now she knows.
disappointment
and anger
and sadness,
all mixed in her face.

"It's your choice."
She wrote,
being supportive of me,
as always.

But she was wrong.

It's really not my choice.
And she doesn't know how hard I tried to fight it;
that I knew how disappointed everyone would be
once they knew.
Especially her.

She doesn't know how hard I looked
for other boys I could fall for.
She doesn't know how disappointed I was in myself
when my eye always drifted back to him.

And I'm still disappointed in myself.
And I'm trying so hard
to fight it.
Any other boy,
please!

"What do you even see in him?"
She asked me,

after a history test,
passing a little notebook back and forth,
that was written in a secret language
we had made up years before.

Good question.

He's an arrogant asshole
who's hurt me before
along with a bunch of people I know.

He's the annoying kid
who shouts out answers
and no one likes to listen to.

He's the one who tries
to push me down.

Which makes me laugh.

I guess he's humorous.

No,
That's not right...
But it feels right.
And that's the problem.

It's definitely
not
my choice.